


Memories

by winter_scldier



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Depression, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_scldier/pseuds/winter_scldier
Summary: ”Do you remember them?”I remember all of them.





	1. Broken

Bucky nearly collapsed as he stumbled out of his bedroom. His whole body shook, just like it always had when he was scared. He reached for the doorframe of the bathroom, gripping so hard that his fingers left dents in the wood. Tears pooled out from over his eyes, running down his cheeks. He felt around hopelessly for the medicine cabinet to find his anti-anxiety medication Steve had gotten him, but his mind couldn’t handle it. He broke down, hitting the floor with a loud bang. He sobbed, he screamed. He hit his head, trying to silence the tortured screams of all the innocent people he executed. 

Steve came barreling into the room trying to assess the situation. There was blood all over the floor from the self inflicted abuse, and Steve tried with all his might to grab Buckys arms and pry them away from his head. His whole body quivered under Steve’s grip. His screaming slowly faded as he tried to listen to Steves voice, trying to tell him he’d be okay. His breath came out shaky and quick, his eyes bloodshot from his tears. He let his body relax against Steve as he began to gently cover the wounds on his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky managed after awhile. He hadn’t meant to wake Steve up in the middle of the night. “The screams...they were too loud...” Steve shushes him gently and helps him stand. “Get some sleep, Buck.” 

But the truth is, Bucky hasn’t gotten good sleep in decades. He was over a century in age, and his last restful night was prior to the war, with Steve’s pale and sickly body lying next to his in the dead of winter in 1936, trying to stay warm. Sarah Rogers had died a few months prior, and Steve had walked three blocks in the middle of the night with his broken shoes and torn coat. He almost died on the sidewalk outside the building. If Bucky wouldn’t have been taking a smoke, his lungs might’ve exploded. 

Bucky sat by his window, waiting for the sun to rise. He tried to imagine the days before the war, where he and Steve would sit on the fire escape from his Brooklyn apartment building, and watch the sunset. Steve would often bring his sketchbook, and draw Buckys profile when he thought he wasn’t looking. Steve had always been the artist. He would always draw pictures for him as a gift for every birthday. Before Bucky got shippped off for the war, he cashed in nearly everything he owned just to buy Steve new pencils. As he met Steve on that fire escape one last time, he fought to keep back his tears back. There was no coming back for him after the war, and he at least wanted Steve to remember him for something good.


	2. Ripped Apart

Bucky sat on his bed, waiting for Steve to wake up. He reached in his bedside drawer and pulled out one of his medications, turning the bottle between his metal fingers. Light shined through his pulled shades, giving him just enough light to read the label, one he had read hundreds of times already. 

Bucky stumblled our of his room when he smelled eggs coming from the kitchen. Steve said good morning, trying to assess his current state.

“You need a shower,” Steve said with a quiet chuckle. “Want some eggs?”

Bucky gave a small nod and sat down at the table. Steve had already set out his pills and a water for him. Bucky looked at them with a long sigh before dumping them in his mouth. 

“I’m...sorry about last night,” Bucky started. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. They were just too loud last night.” 

Steve sighed as he poured the eggs onto the plates. “I would rather you wake me up than you hurt yourself, Bucky. You...you were punching yourself so hard you were bleeding everywhere.”

Bucky touched his scalp, his mind clearing up enough to let him know it was sore. Steve let out a heavy sigh and set the plate down in front of him. 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. Come get me if something happens again, okay?”

Bucky nodded, but he couldn’t put that burden on him. Steve didn’t deserve to see him like that. He deserved to see him like he was back in their childhood. Strong, willing to do whatever it takes to make Steve happy. He silently tied his hair into a bun before slowly eating his food. 

Steve told him to take a nap, because it was going to be a long day. _Fuck. It’s the Fourth of July._ Bucky thought to himself. People in this town started fireworks early in the day, just to get the celebrations started. He went into his room to pack a bag when a firecrack went off somewhere down the street. 

Both of them froze. Steve’s eyes darted between the Bucky and the counter, where a knife sat, ready to be used just in case. Bucky tipped into the doorway, holding himself together, just by a hair. After a few minutes, he straightened, and turned towards Steve, who seemed to tense just a little. 

“I’m okay...” he said. “But we should go before it gets worse.”

Bucky tried not to think about the fact that Steve carried a hand gun with him when they went out on days like this. He tried not to think about Steve having to shoot him down because the sound of a firework going off too close to them. He tried not to imagine the last thing he ever saw was Steve shooting him before he could hurt anybody.


End file.
